Part one: You have got to be kidding me... Ride in this?
I asked my "mom" (I call her that, she seems to like it and it does result in additional cookie delivery...) to bring the laptop out to the stables to give me an opportunity to tell, in first person, the incredible story of my survival on Monday.
After realizing that the keyboard is way too delicate for even my tiny and highly accurate hoof placements, we've opted for dictation instead (sorry about that, mom. But wasn't the inside of that white thing really interesting?). So if there are any misspellings in this story, please keep in mind that I'm relying on others to transcribe my tale.
Ahem. Okay, let's get started.
The day started out with a dangerous tinge to it. We horses are highly attuned to tinges, and I was tinged out. Frankly I knew that we were headed out into a situation fraught with peril as soon as I felt that hungry wind flutter through my mane. Surely she was joking about riding that day. Everyone knows how ridiculously dangerous it is to ride on a day when the wind stirs up every possible thing with teeth, claws, and an unhealthy hankering for nice, fresh horsemeat. Especially the exceedingly rare Arabian/Paint horsemeat, which is well known among predators as a delicacy.
I prayed that mom would come to her senses, deliver my long over due cookie ration and go on her merry way in the red thing that she rides inside of.
But it was not to be. My second in command, Woody, was standing by the wash rack as I tried to alert him to the danger.
"Can you believe this? They are taking us out in these dangerous conditions? We have to talk some sense into them!"
Woody blinked and sighed. "Let's just go. I need a break from that colt. I had to run him all around the pasture today. And where were you? Couldn't you get your head out of the hay for just a minute?"
I snorted. "I'm a finely tuned animal who requires precise amounts of sustenance or I'll come apart right when the lion makes it's final lunge."
"Canyon. There are no lions."
"Ha! Well, I'll remind you of that ridiculous theory when you are trying to buck off those carnivores as they sink their teeth into that big fat hindquarter of yours. I'll be safe at the barn, writing your epitaph!"
He laughed, or something, I was ignoring him by that point since he was clearly of no help whatsoever. In no time we were saddled up and it was time to go.
As we were headed out I hoped that we'd just stop and keep it at a quick fifteen minute work out in the tiny round pasture with the silver things and dirt floor. We did that once. All dressed up, around in circles, then woo hoo! Cookie Time! I loved that day. I think about it every time we go out.
But noooo. We had to go where ALL the lions are.
A trail ride.
I tried to keep an eye peeled for danger, but mom just kept turning me and having me do these complex hoof movements like we were in some sort of weird mating ritual. How's a horse supposed to watch for predators if all you do is "go left. now right. now stop. now trot. let's spin"?
It's impossible. The woman is obsessed with these moves. Ah well, sometimes you just have to let the reins take you where you will, you know?
Fortunately all the lions remained in hiding, held at bay, no doubt, by my fancy footwork and commanding presence. But I must have let my guard drop on our way back from the woods and that's when they sensed it. (They know when you are easy pickin's. It's uncanny.)
It was the first of three attacks and came as we were weaving through the trees (another recent obsession she's picked up from some stupid horse magazine).
That's where it was. The snake. Carefully camouflaged to look a lot like a piece long piece of wood. But how would you explain how it jumped onto my leg! Impossible! Wood does not jump! Snakes jump! Especially at Arabian/Paint horses!
I high stepped a couple times until the snake was dead, resisting the desire to do what any lesser horse would have done, like bolting for the hills. After accepting the compliments from mom for my considerable courage which saved us all from the dangers of the deadly snake cleverly hidden in the trees, I returned to safer ground to meet with Woody.
And of course Woody, the big oaf, hadn't even noticed the snake. Claims he saw a "branch" that I kicked up as I was walking around. Yesh. I tell you, that horse is as blind as a bat.
And that was just the beginning.
Tomorrow: Part two: Courage under fire